The Wages of Sin
by lielabell
Summary: There are some things money can’t buy.  For everything else, there are brothels.  Slash, het, gen.  Unrequited Blush, Spot, Race, and Javid all make an appearance.
1. What the Flesh Requires

_Janet is the only one who understands_, Blink thought as he watched her sleep beside him. He put his hand over his eye and tried to find something good about that fact. Janet is, after all, a working girl. And if the only person he can trust with his secrets is the one he has to pay to be around, then his life is even worst then he thought it was.

He rolled over and punched his pillow, but it didn't make him feel better.

He slid a finger under the string holding his patch in place and rubbed at the indented skin beneath it. A moan drifted through the wall and he wondered who was still awake at this hour. His mind instantly formed a picture of Mush in the arms of a faceless whore and he pushed it away, fighting to ignore the feelings it brought with it.

He sat up and moved to the washstand. He splashed his face and then dried it off with a cloth, praying the empty feeling in his chest would go away. He must of made more noise then he realized, because when he looked up Janet's brown eyes meet his.

"I'm sorry if I woke you," he said penitently.

She smiled and shook her head. "Not you, the pair of 'em next door. Don't know how Maggie's got the energy. I'm worn out and there's just the one."

Blink grinned with relief. Maggie. That meant it wasn't Mush after all. The emptiness eased and he made his way back to the bed.

"Couldn't sleep then?" she asked, brushing his hair back as he settled in next to her. He shook his head. "Want to talk about it?"

He touched her cheek and sighed. "Not really."

"You'll feel better for it," she said with a smile, tweaking his ear.

Blink knew he would. But he didn't want to go into it tonight. He wanted to lie in her arms and pretend, for just one moment, that he was normal and that everything was alright. He touched her hair, a wrapping her tight curls around a finger and tugged gently.

"You've done more then enough for one night, Janet," he said with a forced grin.

"Oh, right you are," she agreed cheekily. "But you haven't got what you came for yet."

He widened his eye at her innocently. "Well now, what was that then, the messy bit at the end?"

She slapped his arm playfully. "Don't be taking that tone with me now, Master Blink. I know you too well for it to work."

Blink propped his head on his hand and grinned at her. "Do you now?"

She nodded. "You've been coming here how long now? Always to me. I wouldn't be worth half of what you pay me if I didn't know a thing or two about you by now."

"Two years," Blink said without thinking.

She shook her head bemusedly. "That long already?" she laughed. "There, you see, you've gone and proved my point for me, laddie."

Blink was quiet for a moment, then took a deep breath and said, "You're a good girl, Janet."

She gave him a look at clearly said she thought he had lost his mind. "Hardly," she said with a scoff.

Blink felt his face go red and muttered, "You've a good heart, is all I mean."

"So are you going to tell me or not?" she asked, covering her mouth as she yawned.

Blink closed his eye and said, "It's so hard, sometimes. I just… I can't… I want things and I don't know how to say the words or even if I should…" he cursed and shoved his hands through his hair, wincing at they hit a tangle.

"Just tell her," Janet urged. "I know that there are reasons, things you think will keep you apart, but you never know. Maybe she feels the same way. Maybe those things you are worried about aren't obstacles at all. You'll never know unless you tell her how you feel."

Blink gave a humorless laugh and shook his head. "Tell her," he said to himself. "God, I forgot that you don't know."

Janet shifted so that she could look him in the eye, a calculating look on her face. "Ah, so that's the way of it. I thought as much."

Blink eyed her nervously. "Thought what?"

"You never came right out and said it, but there are hints, if you're looking for them," she said with a shrug. "So, which one is it? Out with it then. The short one? What looks like he's ready to spit in your face for all he's pretty as a painting? Or the Italian one, who keep Sally up half the night with his cards?"

"What? Race?" Blink laughed at the thought. "Does he really spend his nights gambling? What's the point? He can do that for free at home."

Janet waved a hand dismissively. "Not the Italian, then."

"And the pretty one?" Blink asked curiously. "Which one is he?"

She shrugged. "The one with the cane."

"Spot?" Blink laughed again, longer and louder than before. "He's short, I'll give you that, but I'd have never thought anyone would call him pretty."

Janet ran her tongue around her lips. "Oh, he's pretty alright. Ask any of the girls. But clearly he's not the one you're pining over." She tapped her finger against her chin, obviously thinking.

Blink sat up, pressing his back into the headboard and said, "The tall one, with curly brown hair. That's the one."

Janet glanced down but not quickly enough to hide the pity on her face. "That one," she said in an expressionless voice.

"That one," Blink agreed in a matching tone.

Janet cleared her throat. "He's very fond of the ladies, isn't he?" she said as tactfully as possible.

Blink nodded dejectedly. "Very."

"That's unfortunate," Janet said, placing a hand on his leg.

Blink looked down at her as she scooted over and rested her head in his lap. He reached down and idly started playing with her hair. It was the same shade as Mush's. Her eyes were the same color too. She looked as much like him as to be his sister. Which is why he had picked her in the first place.

He had seen her walking along the street and had been instantly struck with the similarities. He knew what she was, for all her clothes were so fine, and had made inquiries. The price had, at first, been far too steep. But he scrimped and saved and in the end he had been able to save up enough for a night.

It had been worth it.

He could hold her, touch her. He could run his hands down her body, staring into those eyes, and almost believe that she was someone else. When the moment came and he entered her, he could close his eyes and burry his face in her shoulder and find some sort of peace.

Janet frowned, her hand coming up to stroke his face. "There's a house down the way," she said hesitantly. "If it's buggery you're after."

Blink jerked back from her touch. "What I want is not for sell," he said hotly, cheeks flaming.

She nodded. "I thought as much."

Blink raised his eyebrows. "Thought what?" he asked, realizing a moment after he said it that they were repeating themselves.

She twisted her neck and kissed his bare stomach. "That it was love."

Blink closed his eye and pushed at her head, that empty feeling coming over him again. "It's not love," he said hoarsely.

"Saying it ain't won't change the facts," Janet said baldly.

Blink just looked at her, trying to keep his face blank. Was it love? Is that why it hurt so much? Is that why he would rather keep his feelings hidden? Is that why he was so afraid to tell and risk losing his friendship with Mush altogether? He pressed his lips together and tried to make sense of his thoughts.

"It's been two years," Janet said softly, "And you always close your eyes at the end." She moved so that she was sitting beside him and put a thin arm around his shoulders. "If it's been him all this time, if he's the one that you're picturing, then I've no doubt it's love. And neither should you. I'm not saying that it makes things any easier or that you should throw caution to the wind and confess your feelings for the boy. I'm just saying that it's love and there's no reason to be ashamed of it."

Blink rested his head against her shoulder. "When did you get so wise?" he joked.

"It comes with the territory," she said with a smile.

Blink went to kiss her cheek but she turned her head and her lips meet his. They kissed and he was surprised to find himself stirring in response. _It's not Mush_, he thought and was even more surprised that his body stayed ready.

"Sometimes you have to take comfort in whatever offers itself," Janet said, moving to sit on his lap. "I know it's not what you long for, but it's here and you might as well take what pleasure in it as you can."

Blink kissed her again, letting himself drown in those eyes so like his friend's and thought again that Janet was the only one who understood.


	2. In Small Doses

Spot lay sprawled out in the bed, one arm tucked under the pillow and blew out a stream of smoke. Beside him the girl moaned, shifting in her sleep. He glanced at her, then went back to studying the water mark on the ceiling.

It had been a good night. It was always a good night when they came calling on the girls at Number Fourteen. Spot licked his lips and almost believed he could taste sin on them. He put the cigarette to his lips, inhaling, and smiled as the smoke curled up out of his mouth.

He flicked the ash off the side of the bed and took one last pull on his cigarette before grinding it out against the bedpost. He scratched his neck and stretched, turning on to his side to study the sleeping girl. She was pretty, all red hair and freckles, with slightly crooked front teeth. This was the third time he had taken her. And he was pretty sure it wouldn't be the last.

Because when Spot found something he liked he didn't give it up.

He thought about waking her up and having another go, but decided to let her sleep. She had done more then enough to earn her money already and it was only fair that she got to rest up a bit afterward. He yawned and thought about sleeping a little himself.

It was a good arrangement those Manhattan boys had going here. He was glad he was part of it. The girls were a bit on the pricey side, but some things were just worth the extra cost. Besides, it gave a person stature, being able to cough up enough to stay the night. Not everyone could do it.

But Spot could.

And he made sure the rest of the boys knew it. What the Manhattan boys knew the rest of the newsies knew. Spot wasn't sure why, but that was a fact. One that he counted on. How many times had he used it to his advantage? Too many to count. Spot smirked to himself.

A little good press goes a long way.

That is something that every newsie knows, even the bad ones. Twist facts to your liking and you've got it made. Show up unannounced, make a couple of loud comments, back them up with a fight or two and suddenly the world stands in awe of you. Flash around coins like it's nothing and people start to whisper that you're the best. Having a certain reputation makes everything easier.

Manhattan was soft. Being around it too much was bad for a body's health. But in little doses it could work wonders.

Spot let himself relax, enjoy the feel of clean sheets and an honest to god feather mattress. That Kid Blink sure knew how to pick them. The girls were young and not yet jaded, the house was in a more respectable area and the beds were as soft as heaven.

He flipped on to his back and rubbed his chin, thinking that he would need to shave tomorrow. He fingered the head of his cane and thought about putting it on the floor. No. This wasn't his territory, true, but it wouldn't do for him to take risks. The girl here didn't know his name anymore then he knew hers, but descriptions are easy enough to recognize and a whore will do anything for money.

He left the cane where it was and shifted, wishing his mind would slow down and let him sleep.

He watched the girl's chest rise and fall with the even pace of her breathing and suddenly wished he knew her name. It would be nice to have something to call her, other than colleen. For all he knew she wasn't even Irish.

Spot closed his eyes and willed himself to sleep.

It didn't work.

He wasn't comfortable. He couldn't relax in an unfamiliar location. He'd been here five, no, six times. What with them coming every other month or so, that made a year. And he hadn't slept once. The first night he left right after. It had only made sense. No reason for him to suffer through a restless night when brisk walk would see him in his bed in little under four hours. Plus, it saved him making the same walk in the early hours of the morning, when there weren't friendly carriage drivers around to give him a lift.

He can't say why he didn't leave the second time. But the feeling he got when he walked to the Manhattan distribution center with the rest of the boys is the reason he won't be leaving now, no matter how little sleep he gets.

Spot is happy with his life. He liked being alone at the top. He worked damn hard to get there and he didn't do it by playing nice. His boys respect him. His word is law and there'll be hell to pay if anyone is fool enough to disregard it. That's the way it ought to be.

The boys in Manhattan, well they're something else entirely. They don't have a leader, not in any sense of the word. And they are perfectly happy without one. They seem to get on just fine the way they are. Even if it means not always having a cot to sleep in or food to eat.

That doesn't happen in Brooklyn. Because Spot is there to make sure things run the way they are suppose to. He watches out for his boys, gives them a penny when they're short and points out the flaws in their selling style so it won't happen again. He doesn't play favorites, helping everyone equally, even if he would much rather soak them.

That's not to say he plays mother hen.

He doesn't. Spot expects his boys to pull their weight. Everyone has a bad day now and then, and that's when he's there to cover the gap. But if a particular newsies comes up short more often then not, Spot asks him to leave. And when Spot asks nobody says no.

His friends, and there aren't that many, aren't exempt from his rules.

Race is a perfect example of that. He's a good newsie, knows how to get people to buy even when the headline's crap. But he's not so good at keeping hold of his money. One hot tip that doesn't play out or a card game he's sure will come around, and he's left with barely enough to pay for his papes.

Race knew the rules, knew that his time was coming and left before Spot had to ask. Which is a mark in his favor.

Spot liked Race. Why else would he walk all the way to Manhattan? The rest of the boys, they're decent enough, but he never would have bothered to find out what they were like in the first place if Race hadn't chosen to make his home among them. How Race feels about Spot, Spot doesn't know.

Sometimes he thinks that they are on good terms. Sometimes he thinks Race would leave bleeding in a back alley if given half the chance. Yet another reason for Spot to keep his cane by his side. He touched it reflexively and smiled to himself. It's good to have a friend like that. Keeps you on your toes.

He was glad that Race hadn't made it in Brooklyn. If he had, they most likely wouldn't be friends at all. There is a certain distance that a leader needs to keep between himself and others. Otherwise the boys below him start getting ideas.

In Brooklyn Spot would never go out on the town with the best of his boys. Not even for a special occasion or to celebrate. He would be more than willing to fund the excursion, but he wouldn't join in. It would just confuse things. But Manhattan is not Brooklyn. And the rules Spot lives his life by don't apply.

He would deny it, if asked, but that is what he liked about Manhattan.

He doesn't have to think. He doesn't have to plan. All he has to do is show up and smirk a little. Which is second nature to him now. And in return, they treat him like one of their own.

They invite him to Medda's shows. They let him know when the next big card game is. They smile and slap him on the back at the end of the night, telling him he is welcome back at any time.

He comes, even though he has more then enough to deal with in Brooklyn and really doesn't like the walk. He comes, even when it is raining and his boys are starting to get antsy. He comes, in the heat of the summer with only a thin piece of leather between his foot and the burning cobblestones. He comes, because Manhattan, for all its flaws, is the only place where he feels at home.


	3. The High Price of Friendship

Mush puts his hand in his pocket and fingers the coins. He sucks on his lower lip, thinking of all the other ways he could be spending them. Twenty five pennies, carefully hoarded, could go a long way on the street.

But these won't.

They will be gone by morning, spent on a bed and a warm body to go with it. This is a waste of good coin, if you ask Mush. Not that anyone has. The other boys don't see it that way. Not that any of them has the same problems he does when it comes to parting with hard earned money.

He watches as one by one the others make their choice, each boy winking as he lets his pick lead him to her room. There are catcalls, which he ignores, and a sharp jab in the ribs, which he responds to with a hard right hook of his own. He is not the loser in the exchange and that makes him smile.

He is the last one left, alone in the parlor and surrounded by girls. They smile at him, wares blatantly on display. He studies them the way he would the headlines, taking in the various qualities and weighing his possibilities. It had taken him well over two months to save up enough to pay for this trip and he would be damned if he didn't get his money's worth.

After much deliberation, Mush decides on a delicate blonde. She wasn't here last time and he has always had a weakness where blondes are concerned. He nods at her and watches the way that her eyes light up in response, pleased that she is happy to be chosen. She walks up to him, a shy smile playing at her lips.

She takes his hand and he is surprised by how delicate it is. He runs a thumb over the back of her hand and smiles at the softness of her skin. She pulls him to the stairs then leads the way to her room. She pauses in front of the door, hand on the knob, and glances over her shoulder at him. Her big blue eyes are far too innocent to be paired with the saucy wink she gives him.

She pushes open the door and then lets him walk in before her. Mush is not surprised by what he sees. The narrow bed, rickety washstand and large copper mirror are nearly identical to the ones found in every other room in the establishment. He settles himself on the bed and watches as the girl begins to disrobe, silently cursing Blink and his hedonistic ways.

Anyone else would be content to take a roll with whatever comes his way and not worry about the how and why of it. But not Blink. No, Blink has standards. Mush feels his lips curl and thinks about how much better off he would be without Blink and his fancified ways. He wouldn't be here about to plunk down good money for something he could easily get for free.

Sure, the bed was a nice touch as was the water to wash up with afterwards, but the main attraction was the same no matter what the surroundings. And for all the nights that he had spent here, Mush had yet to experience anything that rated the price.

He understood that a boy had needs and that those needs had to be met, but Blink took it a step too far. A quick tumble in a back alley suited Mush just fine. Or better yet, a night spent in the arms of his current favorite on the soft grass in the park. That met his needs each and every time and all without spending a penny.

Blink, on the other hand, couldn't seem to do the trick unless he was in a fancy house on a feather mattress and a whole quarter lighter in the pockets. It made for easy fodder when Mush wanted something to mock his friend about..

It wasn't near so funny when he was the one paying up at the end of the night.

He had complained, for all the good it did him. Loud and long and clear. Blink had just given him a disgusted look and told him not to come. As if that was an option. Let Blink, his best friend, wander about at night with that much money in his pockets with no one to look after him? Mush would have to be made of stone to do that.

So he came. Each and every time. Objecting all the way up to the door.

"You could share a girl," David had once suggested, his cheeks bright red. "The price is the same but there are two of you to split it."

That had sounded just fine to Mush. He wouldn't mind taking turns with a girl and the bed alone with worth at least ten cents. But the only boy he would be comfortable enough with in that situation was Blink. And Blink had made it perfectly clear that he wasn't the slightest bit interested in that sort of thing, to put it mildly.

Blink hadn't spoken to him for a whole week after he suggested it, even though Mush had apologized repeatedly. Not that he even knew why he was apologizing in the first place.

And so Mush was stuck paying full price for something he shouldn't have to pay for at all.

The girl clears her throat, breaking into Mush's thoughts. He blinks once, focusing on the naked body in front of him. He smiles up at her as she leans over him, her fingers running across his chest. He stands, closing the distance between them. Her hands find the hem of his shirt and tugs it up over his head.

She touches his stomach lightly, tracing the hard lines of it. He captures her hand and brings it up to his lips. Her eyes go dark and she presses herself against him. He palms her breasts, fingers toying with her pink nipples as he moves in for a kiss.

She slides her hand down between them, cupping him in her palm, and Mush feels as if he is about to burst. Without much concern for her wellbeing, he shoves her onto the bed, tugging at the button on his britches. Hardly bothering to do much more then push them down, he enters her. She is warm and wet and does some sort of movement that squeezes down the length of him.

Mush closes his eyes and gives himself over to the sensation.

When it is over he rolls off of her, collapsing in a heap. She shifts, moving off of the bed. A moment later she is back, a bowl of warm water and soft cloth in her hands. He feels himself stirring almost instantly and is fully erect by the time she finishes her ministrations.

"Again?" she asks in a hoarse whisper. "So soon?"

He takes the cloth from her hand and gently strokes it between her thighs. Her eyes flutter closed and he takes the bowl from her limp hand. Setting it on the floor, he turns back towards her, kissing his way down her body. She sways in his arms when he reaches her center, body arching towards him, hands clutching at his hair.

When she cries out above him, Mush smiles. He stands up, towering over her once more, and captures her mouth with his. Her tongue flicks against his and he wonders if she can taste herself. He pulls back, brushing hair off of her face.

Her breath is hot on his cheek as he lays her back on the bed. She sighs, letting her legs fall open and Mush touches her, spreads her wide. He centers himself, then slides home again, bound and determined to get his money's worth.


	4. More Important Than Others

Race leans back and whistles, sneaking peeks at Sally's face while he pretends to study his cards. It's blank. It's always blank. She is the closest thing to a perfect partner that he has ever had. It's too bad that he has to pay her to play.

He glances down at his cards and grins.

Not because he has a good hand, it's alright but could be much better, but because that's his style. Always pretend you're ahead. Gives the other guy something to worry about. He fingers a penny and waits to see what she will do. She pushes two out onto the scrap of red fabric that serves for their table.

Race blithely copies her.

She brushes her hair off of her neck and picks up another penny. She runs it along the neckline of her dress and Race feels something deep inside of him tighten. She licks her lips and draws the penny down her stomach before placing it on the cloth.

"This is the last game for tonight," she says in the voice he fanaticizes about when he's alone in his bunk at night.

"Are you sure?" he asks with an air of indifference. "You haven't won your money back yet."

"The hand isn't over," she answers, her face a smooth mask.

"And you'll be even deeper in the hole when it is," he replies, as he slides another penny onto the cloth.

She rubs her eyebrow and sighs. "Enough talk, Race. Let's see what you got."

"Ladies first, my dear," he says, blowing out a ring of smoke.

"Don't get ash in my bed or you'll be paying to have it cleaned."

"Stop delaying," he answers, carefully flicking the ash onto the floor.

She leans forward, pressing her breasts together as she lays down her hand.

"Three aces, very nice," Race says with a smile. "Too bad I've got a flush." He puts the cards down one at a time, gloating a little at the frown on her face.

"Take your winnings," she says, standing up. And he very gladly does. He stands, because he can't reach into his pocket without doing so, and pulls out his money bag, carefully adding the coins to it. Forty cents. Minus the twenty five he is going to have to pay at the end of the night. Not bad. Not bad at all. He tucks the bag back into his pocket and catches sight of Sally in the copper mirror. She is oddly distorted, lines wavering where none ought to, but she is also naked, so he doesn't mind.

He smiles as he turns to face her. "As beautiful as you are smart," he says, stepping close.

She reaches up, her arms coming around her neck, and kisses him. Her tongue runs along his lips and she licks and nips at his mouth. He kisses her back the way he always does: mouth firmly closed. He knows it bothers her that he never kisses her properly, but she has rotten teeth and that is just too much for him.

Besides, she's a whore and it's not his concern what she feels.

The teeth in and of themselves would have been enough for him not to pick her. There are few things that make him lose interest faster then a mouth full of yellowed teeth and bleeding gums. But she had those little calluses on her thumb and forefinger, a testament to long practice dealing cards, and some things are just more important then others.

So Race spends his nights with a whore he won't kiss who plays the best hand of poker this side of Brooklyn.

Makes perfect sense, if you think about it.

She moves down to his neck, sucking hard enough that he knows there will be a mark, and pushes at the collar of his shirt. He steps away from her and pulls it over his head in one quick movement. She glances at his britches and he unbuttons them, letting them pool on the floor, wincing at the heavy clank of the coin bag.

He fingers the string of his smalls but she brushes his hand away, undoing the knot with her own clever fingers. She pushes them down over his hips and he steps out of the pile of clothes. She runs a soft fingertip down the length of him, then bends and picks up the untidy heap. She swiftly folds them, placing his belongings on the bottom shelf of the washstand, then comes to stand before him, hand on her wide hips.

"I've a special treat for you," she says and he watches as she pops something into her mouth before sinking to her knees.

He is sitting on the bed, his leg spread wide and she moves deftly between them. Her mouth closes in on him and a pleasant tingling accompanies the more familiar sensations. He moans in appreciation, his hands fisting in her long hair. She rolls her eyes up at him and he can see satisfaction in them.

On the spot he decides to give her an extra penny.

Her mouth works its magic and soon he is close to the brink. He moves against her, hips thrusting in spite of himself. He thinks for a moment that this is it, that he will finish without once touching the flesh between her legs, but she pulls back. She rests on her haunches and smiles up at him, her tongue running along those swollen lips.

"Liked that did you?" she asks archly.

He catches hold of her wrist and pulls her up along his body. "You know I did," he says a moment before he kisses her neck.

"It's a peppermint," she says between sighs. "Makes things all shivery, doesn't it?"

"Aren't those the candies doctors give you when you're sick?" Race asks in some amazement.

Sally nods. "Makes you feel real good, doesn't it?" she says with a grin.

"I'll never be able to look at them the same," he assures her with mock seriousness. "Now enough with all this talking. There's work to be done and I won't have anyone saying I didn't put all my effort into it."

He stands and pushes her down onto the bed. She tucks a pillow under her head and touches her breasts, rubbing them as she stares at him. He watches her for a moment, then kneels beside her on the bed. He moves closer, leaning over and licking the nipples made hard by her own hands. She wiggles under him, hands coming up to tangle in his hair.

He pulls back and smiles at her. "Have any more of those peppermints?" he asks.

She nods, pointing to the washstand. He walks over and finds a tin with the word peppermint and the faded image of a cowboy. He smiles at the picture, thinking that Jack would like it, then flicks open the top and pulls out one of the chalky white candies. Shutting it with a soft click, he replaces the tin and walks back to the bed.

He repositions himself over her, then pops the candy into his mouth and returns his attention to her breasts. She moves against him like never before, moaning and sobbing as he licks and sucks. Startled, he accidently bites down harder then he intends to, but instead of reprimanding him, she begs him to do it again.

Race smiles to himself, redoubling his efforts, as he slides inside.

When it's over and she's lying with her head resting on his chest, he wonders if life could ever be better then it is right now. She shifts, pressing close against his side and starts tracing patterns on his stomach with one finger.

"Race?" she asks, eyes turned up towards him.

"Yes?"

"Why don't you kiss me?"

He sucks on his teeth, surprised by the uncertainty in her tone. "It's just not my thing," he lies, and is shocked to find that he cares about her feelings after all.


	5. Words Left Unspoken

For the most part we talk about everything. Little things, like the girls on the next block over or the best spot to sell and big things, like what we want out of life and the headlines. But there are some things that are never up for discussion. Like Jack's father or the time he turned scab and, above all, what happens when we visit the girls at Number Fourteen.

The things we do with Maggie, the things we do to each other, might as well not exist when we are outside of her room.

But they do. And for me that is enough.

* * *

The first time it happened was out of kindness. Jack knew I couldn't afford the price. All the money I make goes to my family. I've never kept as much as a penny for myself. So when the boys started talking about visiting the girls and asked me if I would come along, I said no. I wanted to go, wanted to more then anything, but how could I justify it? 

The price of a night at Number Fourteen would keep my family well fed for the better part of a week. That's meat on the table and milk in the cups. That's eggs and cheese and some cabbage for the pot. That's flour, butter and a twist of sugar, if you bargain just right.

I would never be able to live with myself if I used that money for something as self-indulgent as a night in a brothel.

Jack knew I wanted to go and knew just as surely why I wouldn't. He had come up to me when I was on my own and told me that he would cover me, just that one time. And I let him. Because no matter how strong my pride was, the pent up longing inside of me were ten times as strong.

I didn't know then what he had in mind. I didn't realize that we would be sharing the girl. If I had I might have done things differently. I thank all that is holy that I didn't. If I had, I might never have understood what those half-formed thoughts and confused feelings meant. I would never have understood at all.

* * *

Maggie's not much to look at. Her features are coarse, plain as a cotton shift. Her hair hangs limp about her face and is the exact color of water after the dishes have been washed in it. Her body is all sharp lines and angles, with barely a bump to mark her bosom and only the merest hint of a dip to show where her waist ought to be. 

In short, there is nothing about her to make a body want pay for the privilege of a night in her bed.

But Maggie's one of only two girls willing to spilt a fare and the other one was already occupied that first night. So it was to Maggie's room that we went and in Maggie's bed that we touched, hands carefully maneuvering, as we explored the forbidden.

* * *

Maggie likes being in the middle. She loves the sensation of two bodies pressing her between them. She says that she can feel us rubbing against each other inside her, separated only by a thin layer of skin. 

Today she is spread out between us like a table, my hands in her hair mirroring Jack's on her hips. She pulls away just long enough to tell us we are beautiful and to beg us to kiss. I bring her mouth back down over me, shifting slightly so that she can watch as we fulfill her request.

Jack's hands leave her body, coming up to cradle my face and mine do the same. His hair is thicker then Maggie's, and softer too. His lips brush against mine and I press myself deeper into her as I lean into that kiss. His tongue touches mine and I shudder, wishing it was his mouth I was thrusting in.

There are times, when Maggie's asleep and there is no one to see, when I get my wish. I close my eyes and silently beg that tonight is one of those times.

He pulls back from me, winking, and slaps Maggie's bony bottom. She squirms against him, momentarily forgetting that I am at the other end and just as in need of attention as he is. Jack notices and guides her head back down, his fingers brushing against my stomach on the way.

He winks again, then pinches my nipple and pats my cheek. "I won't let her neglect you," he says in a voice that fuels my desires.

* * *

We lay together in the dark, his arm wrapped around my chest, holding me close. Beside me, Maggie sleeps her body curved in on itself. I shift my hips and brush firmly against him. He moans, pressing our bodies together. I arch my back slightly, letting myself rub up and down the length of him. His arm tightens and I hear him mutter a curse. 

Then he is moving, hips pushing that hard flesh against me in time to my rhythm. I feel him tense, his whole body trembling, and his free hand slides between our bodies, probing me gently. I bite my lips as he slides a finger inside. It pulls a little and I have to force myself to relax. He inserts another finger, spreading them apart as he thrusts, his hand movement echoing that of his hips.

It feels good. It always feels good. I close my eyes and press back against his hand. He kisses my neck, teeth scrapping against my skin and I wonder how such a small thing can feel so much better then anything Maggie does. Even the hot clasp of her body doesn't send the same sensations shooting through me. And suddenly I want more. I pull away, ignoring Jack's protest.

"What are you doing?" he asks in voice barely above a whisper.

I don't answer because I don't know how. I slowly get off of the bed, careful not to wake Maggie, and make my way to the nightstand. On the bottom, next to the stack of cloths, is the tub of cream she uses to coats us. I pick it up and carry it to the bed. Jack looks at up at me, his eyes full of questions, and I smile.

I know what I want.

I've seen the way Maggie does it; I've envied the way she slides over him, taking him deep inside her. I may not be able to give him all of what she can, but I've got at least one thing in common with her and I'm going to make the most of it.

"Lay on your back," I say in a voice I don't recognize.

He doesn't reply, just obeys. I join him in the bed, kneeling above him. His body is beautiful and for once I don't have to share. For a moment I am motionless, thinking of all the things I could do to him. Then I smile again and unscrew the lid.

The cream is cold and sticks to my hands as I slowly rub it into Jack's skin. His eyes are wide, his hands are clapped over his mouth, muffling any sounds he might make. He arches up off the bed and I grin. This is my doing. Mine. Not Maggie's. He is hard and ready and it's all because of me.

I take another large dollop of cream and reach between my own legs, spreading it awkwardly. I rub the cream around and slide one finger inside experimentally. It goes in easily, not pulling at all. _Perfect,_ I think. I replace the cap and set the jar on the floor, too impatient to put it back where it belongs.

I crawl up his body, enjoying the feel of his skin against mine. When I reach his hips I stop. I am nervous. What will it feel like? Will it hurt? Will he like it? Will I like it? I wrap my hand around him and he thrusts up eagerly. I push at his hips, silently willing him to stay in place.

I settle myself above him and carefully lower myself. I feel the tip of him pressing against me and panic, quickly moving up and off of him. He moans, his head tossed back, and I realize that he enjoyed the tease. I do it again, letting him get a little further inside this time. He bucks his hips as I pull away and I feel a laugh bubble up inside of me.

His hand grasps my arm tight enough to hurt and he whispers, "Do that again and I swear I will soak you."

I smirk at him, knowing the power is all mine. But I have teased him enough. This time when I let him in I don't pull away. He fills me and I am surprised by how slowly I have to go to keep it from hurting. Maggie just slides down as quick as you please without the pauses and stops that I need.

Jack doesn't seem to notice the difference. His eyes are closed and his fingers dig into my hips. I feel him tremble and realize he is fighting the urge to thrust. Wanting to please him, I bite my lip and press down as fast as I can, ignoring the burn of it. I am fully astride him now, his flesh inside me as deep as it will go.

He moves then, pushing up against me and I am surprised by the pleasure of it. I move against him, but am frustrated by my natural inclinations. I cannot thrust the way I am use to and am instead limited to only moving in time to his rhythm. Jack pumps into me and I rock against him again and again.

He grins up at me and before I know what is happening I am on my back, with the weight of him pressing me down into the mattress. My legs circle around his back and all the previous awkwardness is gone. He moves against me, pressing deeper then he had before and I lift my hips to meet him.

* * *

In the morning he doesn't say a word to me. He kisses Maggie on the cheek and tells her he'll be counting the moments till he can see her again. She blushes and swats at him, and I can't help but smile. When it's my turn to say goodbye she give me a quick hug and tells me not to let Jack talk me into anything too stupid. She ruffles my hair and then we leave. 

We walk down the stairs, carefully not making contact, and join the group of boys in the hall.

"Have a good night?" Race asks, slapping Jack on the back.

"The best," he replies, with a quick glance over his shoulder at me.

When all of us are assembled, we start in on the long walk to the distribution center and I am left remembering all the things that we never discuss.

* * *

A.N.

This is my first attempt at hard core slash. Any constructive criticism would be greatly appreciated.


End file.
